


Doesn't Matter Anyway

by sinfuldesire_archivist



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Drama, Season/Series 03
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-05-15
Updated: 2008-05-15
Packaged: 2018-09-03 12:33:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8714119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinfuldesire_archivist/pseuds/sinfuldesire_archivist
Summary: Post 3.16 guesswork. Broken!Sam. Warnings: Might be spoilery for 3.16, might not be. I won't know until it airs, I'm merely prognosticating. Submitted to Sinful Desires at 3:52pm EST, May 15, 2008.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the Sinful Desire archivists: this story was originally archived at [Sinful-Desire.org](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Sinful_Desire). To preserve the archive, we began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2016. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [Sinful Desire collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/sinfuldesire/profile).

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Sam tips the half-empty bottle back before he even has the door shut, drains it another quarter. His liver's gotten a good workout these past two months, and by now he barely notices the vile, sour kick the cheap whiskey tries to dole out. Doesn't matter anyway, so long as it helps him sleep.

 

He tosses the Impala keys to the bedside table, misses, doesn't react at all when they jangle and clank to the floor. Doesn't matter anyway, they'll still be there come morning. 

 

Sam's dirty-nailed fingers rake back through greasy hair, and Sam considers getting a shower. But that would require fighting his way out of tightly laced boots, getting completely undressed, and walking clear across the ratty carpet to the grungy bathroom. He stinks like grave dirt, like cheap whiskey, stale sweat, like death and bone-smoke. Doesn't matter anyway, no one here to complain that he reeks. 

 

He flops on the bed, kills the rotgut whiskey, tosses the empty to the floor where it clatters against his keys. 

 

_Dean's keys_ , Sam thinks. _Dean's car. Dean's Sam. Shit._

 

Sam's fingers unbuckle his belt, pop open the snap at the top of his fly, yank down his zipper, haul out his dick. His eyelids close, jaw clenches tight, eyes sting, teeth clamping down on the inside of his cheek. Sweet copper syrup, much better than bourbon. Reminds him of that one time...

 

Doesn't matter anyway. Dean's gone and this all Sam's got left. Same cheap motels, same shit wreaking havoc on the world, same car, same keys. Same Sam, and that's the real bitch. Be a lot easier if all that crap had come true, scary evil Sam going full-on Dark Side and stirring shit up. Hunting people, saving things, the _new_ family business. Hasn't turned out that way.

 

_Fuck_.

 

Wet salt tracks down his face. Sam's hand flies over his dick, hard and fast, reminds him of Dean. Everything does, twenty-four seven, can't get away from any of it. Every cup of bad coffee, every seedy motel, every fucking thing he stares down and dispatches. He's become a good hunter, the best, that's for goddamn sure. Somebody once said the most dangerous man is the one who's got nothing left to lose. Mom. Jess. Dad. Dean. Fuck yeah, that qualifies. Sam fears _nothing_ now except waking up in the morning. 

 

Sam grunts, strangles out a moan, coats his hand with a hot spill of come, licks it off, compares it to Dean's. No contest, just like the blood versus whiskey. Doesn't matter anyway, Sam knows. Knows he'll see Dean again. Knows the motel owner hadn't done a goddamn thing to deserve rotting under a bed in one of his own fucking rooms. Sam knows that's his sure-fire ticket to a partial family reunion. 

 

When the sun comes up, Sam'll sling those long, lanky legs over the side of the bed. One tightly laced boot will kick a stiff, blackening hand farther under the bed so it's not so obvious when the maid shows.

 

Doesn't matter anyway. Dean's car and Dean's Sam will be long gone, no witnesses, and the police'll be hard-pressed to figure out who the fuck Jim Rockford is.

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End file.
